by Dawn Barker
Emily has always been so content with simply being at home, finding such joy in the everyday moments that I hadn’t appreciated before: kissing the kids goodnight, having a glass of wine – just one – with dinner, watching a trashy TV show, then going to bed early with a book. Why couldn’t I be happy with what I had? All my life I’d been endlessly chasing something: to make the school football team, to be selected by a talent scout, to get signed, to score goals, to be on TV, to make money. I had been far happier chasing my dreams than I ever was when I caught them.
I groaned, looking at Michael. ‘I’m just finding it so bloody hard, being away from them.’
‘Being disconnected right now is what you need. You need to rid yourself of everything that was happening to you, out there. Here, you are safe, and you are becoming healthier every day in your mind and body. No electronics, no caffeine, no junk food, no alcohol, no temptations to ruin you.’
‘I may have been addicted to gambling, but I’m not addicted to any of those other things.’ Drinking was never my problem: hangovers always made sure I could never back it up the next day.
‘Really? Could you go without your coffee, or your glass of red with dinner?’
I rubbed my face. ‘That wasn’t causing any trouble.’ But I guess I was addicted to work, to soccer. ‘Maybe I’ve just got an addictive personality. A gene that flicked on and started this whole bloody thing.’
Michael looked tense as he spoke vehemently. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Paul. All this crap out there about genes and diagnoses and medication for this and that…’ He shook his head. ‘The problem is not in you; the problem is the world out there that you let influence you. Remember what it’s like out there? Kids and adults stare at their phones as they’re walking down the street, they can’t concentrate because emails and messages constantly ping onto their screens, they can’t sleep because they’re worried that they’re missing ‘likes’ on Facebook or Instagram. When they go out, they take hundreds of photos and don’t look at the world through their eyes any more, girls pouting in bikinis taking selfies at the beach instead of swimming.
‘This… narcissism, showing the world filtered flattering photos of our holidays, why? To instil envy, envy that makes people like you think that everyone else is doing something better than you are, instead of being happy with what you have. We poison ourselves with fake food, with alcohol, with drugs prescribed by doctors as a quick fix, but do they ever work? Do you know how they design those casinos, Paul? They have psychologists – people who are supposedly meant to help us – paid a fortune to help them rig the machines to brainwash you and force you to keep pressing that button, like a rat in a cage getting cocaine. They deliberately set up the place so you have no idea if its night or day, they pump oxygen into the room to keep you awake, give you free drinks to keep you disinhibited…’
‘Okay,’ I said, the tension in my head building. ‘Okay, I get it. Please…’
He raised his voice, his pupils dilated as he stared at me. ‘You don’t get it, Paul, or else you wouldn’t want to leave. The world out there is not good for you, not until you’ve learned how to rise above it. That’s what Phoenix will teach you, unless you’re too weak and are ready to give up.’
‘I don’t give up,’ I said, irritated. ‘I was a professional athlete. I didn’t get there by giving up. I’m getting really pissed off by how—’
He pointed a finger at me. ‘You were an athlete. You’re not now. And it sounds to me like giving up was exactly what you did. You gave into all the temptations out there, you lost yourself.’
My eyes were filling with tears. Jesus. ‘Alright, I get it.’
‘I don’t know that you do.’
‘I do!’ I wiped at my face. Couldn’t he see that I’d had enough?
‘If you did get it you wouldn’t be giving up, wouldn’t be trying to walk out of here after, what, four weeks? You’ve had years and years building up to this and you think you can fix it in a few weeks? There’s so much more you have to learn about yourself, about the world out there, and how to heal yourself.’
My breath quickened, and my lip quivered. I tried to slow my breathing. ‘I understand,’ I said, my voice tense.
‘No, you don’t!’ he shouted.
My fists clenched; how dare he? I was here by choice. Yes, I was indebted to Damian for helping to arrange this and lending me the money, but he was withholding a percentage of my wages until I’d paid him back the fees here, and for the time off work I’d taken. So, that meant that Michael worked for me, and I had been working damn hard to get myself better, doing everything they had asked of me. I sat forward, my legs ready to spring. I stared at Michael. He stared back. I held his gaze, but then my vision blurred and I looked away. This was humiliating enough; I didn’t want to cry in front of him too. No matter how much you hurt, you get up and you keep going. That’s how I survived the housing estates in Scotland, that’s how I got myself out of that and into soccer.
I pursed my lips and let out a slow breath, looking at the worn-out toes of my sneakers. If I left now, before my treatment was finished, would Damian still let me work for him? Would he trust me enough, knowing that I had turned up on his doorstep, begged him to help me, then thrown it back in his face? And what if I did stuff up, and gamble again? Without Damian employing me, what else would I do for an income? It was already going to take months and months to pay back what I owed him, and then once I was out of here, I’d need ongoing help to keep me away from gambling, and I’d have to pay for that too. After paying Damian and Phoenix, Emily and I would still struggle to make ends meet. Damian had promised that when I was better, if I could prove myself worthy of joining them, that I would be rewarded. So, this really was my only way out of this. My life – my family – depended on me getting better. Michael was right. A month was nothing. This had been going on for years. I had no choice. ‘I do understand.’
‘I’m not sure I believe you, Paul.’ His voice was strong.
‘I do. I’m not going anywhere.’
I heard him sigh and I looked up. Michael was leaning forwards now, a kind smile on his face. ‘Mate, we’ve all been there. I’ve been there. We can change your life. You just have to trust us.’
‘I do.’ I nodded.
‘Alright. I trust you too, Paul. You’ve made the right choice.’
It didn’t feel like I had a choice.
Eighteen
Emily
The traffic was barely moving as I neared the school. The rain was pelting down as I peered through the brief clear patches of the windscreen as the wipers worked furiously to clear the rain. I had a headache from working straight through without any lunch, again, so I could be there to pick the kids up from school. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard; I was five minutes later than usual which meant that even if the weather had been great, I would still be stuck in a long line of traffic waiting for the older kids to come out of school, with the odd perplexed driver unwittingly dropped in the chaos of school pick up. The radio show paused as my phone rang over the Bluetooth through the car stereo. Paul’s name appeared on the screen.
‘Jesus!’ I muttered as I jabbed at the screen several times to answer the call. ‘Paul? Paul, can you hear me?’
‘Hi Emily. How are you?’
His voice filled the car and my eyes blurred with tears. I had hoped he would call any day, now that his six weeks was up. I had called Treetops again and again, but they wouldn’t tell me when he’d be released, or even confirm that he was there. Damian had been evasive, saying he didn’t know much but that he had heard Paul was doing well.
‘It’s you. It’s really you. Good, good, we’re fine. How are you? I haven’t heard from you in so long. I tried calling you every day, but your phone…’
‘I’m sorry. They don’t allow phones.’
‘I know that, but it’s just ridiculous.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s been over six weeks! Was there was no
way to call me? No payphone or email or even a letter?’ I knew I was shouting now, partly against the noise of the pouring rain on the car roof, but mainly because now that I heard his voice and he sounded like my old Paul, I realised I was furious at him, for putting us through this.
‘Sorry. It’s just… it wasn’t allowed.’
I sniffed. ‘You’re a grown man. Even prisoners get a phone call.’
The traffic began to move slowly forward as I saw children empty out of the school building and run, blazers over their head, to shelter under the edge of the school building as teachers with umbrellas called their names out as the cars moved forwards.
‘I’m just picking the kids up. They’ll be in the car soon. They want to talk to you, they’ve been asking all these questions about why you haven’t phoned, and I’ve had to pretend you have called during the day. They know, Paul, they know I’m lying to them. Can you hold on for another few minutes to talk to them? They really miss you.’
‘Emily, I’m coming home.’
‘Oh, thank God. When?’
‘Now.’
‘Now? But—’ My mind raced as my stomach began to churn.
‘I thought you’d be happy.’
‘Oh Paul, I am, I am happy. It’s just that I’ve heard nothing from you for so long and now you tell me you’re on your way home. I just assumed there would be some, well, meeting, to plan it all. Are you okay?’
What I wanted to ask was, are you safe to come home? Have you stopped gambling? Because I had worked too hard to try and hold everyone steady to have him tip us over again.
‘Yes, I’m great. I’ve changed, and I know that sounds like something in a movie, Em, but I have. I’ve opened my eyes to so much about myself, about the world, and I’m positive that we will be great. I can’t wait to share it all with you.’
I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them. It was good to hear him sound so positive, so enthusiastic. ‘Okay, well, that’s great, Paul. What time will you be home? Can I pick you up?’
‘No, I’m good. I have a lift, I’ll be home in a couple of hours.’
‘Why don’t we just come to where you are? Tilly won’t mind missing dancing, they’d love to see you…’
‘No, they’ll drive me.’
‘Okay.’ My breath was shaky as I spoke. ‘The kids will be so pleased to see you.’ Would I be pleased to see him? Already I felt uneasy, like he was intruding back onto the life that I’d had to make for the kids and me since he left us.
‘I’ve missed you all,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to see you.’
I steadied my voice. ‘Me too. I love you.’
* * *
I cut up some watermelon and put it on the kitchen table, then opened a packet of crackers for the kids’ afternoon tea. Tilly had skipped dancing once I told her that Paul was coming home so she was in her room doing stretches instead. ‘Kids!’ I called, ‘come and get a snack.’
Tilly came, grabbed a piece of watermelon, took one bite then walked back towards her room.
‘Hey,’ I said. ‘That’s not enough.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said. ‘I ate everything in my lunchbox today.’
I had been packing a couple of extra things for her. She was doing so much dancing, as well as hockey and cross-country running, and she’d been looking thin. ‘Okay, darling. Maybe Dad will want to go out for dinner to celebrate being home.’
Cameron wandered out, his shirt hanging out, in his socks. ‘Come and eat something, Cam.’
He sat down at the table. I looked at the pile of lunchboxes and water bottles and school diaries and notes and iPads on the breakfast bar. I wanted the house to look nice when Paul came back, to show him I’d been coping. Or perhaps it was better to show him how it had really been for me, having to do everything by myself for all this time. But then I looked at Cameron, his eyes downcast, nibbling on a cracker. I went over and sat opposite him.
‘I think I’ll have some afternoon tea with you. I didn’t have lunch today.’
‘That was silly,’ he said.
I nodded. ‘Yes, it was.’
‘Imagine if I told you I hadn’t had lunch.’
‘True, Cameron. I’d tell you that was silly.’ He smiled, just a little.
‘Hey, how are you feeling? You’ve been on the tablets almost a month now. Are they doing anything?’
He shook his head.
‘Anything good at all? Or anything bad? You can be honest with me.’
‘I don’t feel any different.’
‘Okay. Dr Davidson said that we could increase the dose to a full tablet, so we’ll do that from tomorrow, okay? I’ll just give it to you with your juice tomorrow morning.’
‘Won’t Dad see?’
I had thought the same thing. ‘Don’t you worry about your dad, I’ll talk to him.’
‘You know what he’ll say. He’ll just tell me to get on with it.’
‘Oh, Cam.’ I reached across the table. ‘He won’t. The doctor said you’re ill and it’s no different to having a broken leg or diabetes, okay? This is not something that you can do anything about, you need medicine. Hey, why don’t we just not tell him for now? I’ll bring it to you in your room in the morning, you just swallow it down. If he sees, we’ll say its paracetamol. But it’s not a secret, Cam, you have nothing to be ashamed of.’
I bit into the piece of melon, then wiped my chin with my finger. ‘How was school today?’
He shrugged. ‘Fine.’
‘Who did you hang out with at lunch?’
‘Nobody. I went to the library.’
‘You okay, Cam?’
He didn’t look me in the eye. ‘I’m fine.’
I watched him eating, and waited, but I knew better than to push him. ‘Okay, sweetie. I’m going to clean up before your dad gets home. Show him how well we’ve managed while he’s been off gallivanting around the world!’
I had just finished washing up the lunchboxes and plastic tubs when I heard a loud voice bellow down the hallway. ‘Guess who’s home?’
‘Daddy!’ shrieked Tilly as she ran out of her room. I smiled; as grown up as she tried to be as she moved closer to being a teenager, she was still a little girl at heart. I followed her as she ran down the hallway towards Paul, both of them with their arms wide open. I was trying to be calm but I found my feet began to run of their own accord towards him too. Tilly shifted over to his left and he put his right arm around me and squeezed hard. I leaned into his chest. ‘Welcome home,’ I murmured.
‘You smell different, Dad,’ Tilly said.
‘Must be the different washing powder,’ he said. ‘Hotels, hey?’ He relaxed his grip on me and looked down the hallway. ‘G’day, Cameron,’ he beamed.
Cameron stepped forward and gave him a hug too. ‘Group hug!’ I joked, feeling a weight drop off me as I realised we were all back together.
‘Did you bring me any presents, Dad?’
‘Tilly!’ I said sharply.
‘Of course I did,’ he said. ‘Though I didn’t see any Hobbits in New Zealand, I’m sorry. But something weird has happened to my feet and they’ve gone a bit hairy…’
‘Dad!’ Tilly was delighted, and I saw Cameron smile too.
She and Cameron watched as he unzipped his suitcase. My stomach churned. What did he bring them from a rehab centre?
He handed each of them a carrier bag. I saw them pull out a magazine each: some teenage girl one for Tilly, a computer one for Cameron, and a notepad and one of those pens with multiple colours at the top that you can click down. He must have stopped at the newsagent on the way home. My heart smiled.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ Cameron said. ‘This has got some Minecraft codes in it. Mum, can I play on my iPad?’
‘Have you done your homework?’
‘Haven’t got any.’ He raked his fingers through his hair.
I raised my eyebrows, paused, then smiled. ‘Yes, go on then.’
‘Me too?’ said Tilly.
I laug
hed. ‘Only because you’ve caught me in a good mood.’
They both came past me, and as they did, I grabbed them both and gave them a big hug before they wriggled free and went off to their rooms.
Paul zipped up his case again. As he stood up, I put my arms around his waist and hugged him again. ‘You do smell different,’ I mumbled. ‘And you feel different too.’
He held me and kissed the top of my head. ‘You’ve just forgotten what I feel like.’
‘I missed you.’
‘Me too.’
I breathed deeply. He did feel different. He’d lost weight, but in a good way. He looked leaner, fitter. I let go and stepped back, looking him up and down. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. The sleeves were tight on his arms and I could see muscles there again, and his waist was slimmer. I smiled. ‘Have you been working out?’ I said in a mock American accent.
He laughed. ‘A little. They had a small gym. Not much else to do in there.’
I sighed then spoke quietly. ‘Are you okay?’
He nodded, then looked me in the eye. ‘Yes. I’m great.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. I promise you, everything is going to be great. This is the turning point. I’m back.’
* * *
We went out for dinner. The kids wanted pizza, so we drove to an Italian restaurant, a small place where they made their own pasta and had a wood fired oven. I ordered a Prosecco. ‘You want one? To celebrate?’ I asked Paul as the waiter hovered.
He shook his head. ‘Just a sparkling mineral water.’
I felt a surge of irritation. ‘Really?’
‘Just don’t feel like it,’ he said, glancing at the children and then back to me.
‘Actually,’ I said to the waiter, my face blushing. ‘I’ll have the same.’ Of course, they wouldn’t have allowed him any alcohol in an addiction centre. I should be happy; how many times had I told him that he was drinking too much? But I was also disappointed. I wanted a drink, and now I felt awkward. I pushed it out of my mind.